For the Love of a Cloak
by Horsegirl01
Summary: Summary: A young Legolas (about 13) goes on one of his first patrols, and he and Thranduil discover the pros and cons of a much-despised cloak as they struggle to break through the barriers of communication.


(New Note)

It was brought to my attention that I wasn't clear on Legolas' age. He is about 13 in comparative human years, which would make him around 30-something in elven years. I am basing this on the premises that with Greenwood in such dire straits and as the prince of the realm, he would have to start training earlier than most other young elves. In this story, he goes on one of his very first patrols as a training patrol, and in the olden days, youths would join the military at a much younger age anyway, so hope this isn't too farfetched. Even as early as World War I and II, there are stories of kids 14 and 15 secretly managing to sign up and go to war, and Middle Earth days were even earlier. :) Thank you for reading!

Rating: K+ for injuries and angst

Summary: A young Legolas (about 13) goes on one of his first patrols, and he and Thranduil discover the pros and cons of a much-despised cloak as they struggle to break through the barriers of communication. Written (didn't place) for Teitho April contest.

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, but Angbor is my own creation.

Personal Note:

I just wanted to write a quick note to all the great readers who favorited me and wrote reviews. I didn't have a way to respond to you personally on here if you were anonymous or didn't have the option to send a pm, but each review really made my day and meant a great deal to me. I am always trying to improve on my writing and always think there is a lot of room for improvement in my stories, so to see others actually enjoying them really gives me some much-needed confidence! A big thank you to all of you, and I hope I don't disappoint with future stories!

 **For the Love of a Cloak**

Clothes are meant to cover, to provide a comfortable level of modesty that fits the society we live in. They are meant to provide shelter from the elements and from whatever mundane task we are doing at any particular time. They define the group in which we exist, telling others what realm we hail from, what job we hold, and sometimes even our age or importance. Clothes can show us whether a person is wealthy or poor in material goods, and they can tell us how reliable a person may be, for if someone does not tend well to his clothing, he most likely does not tend well to other matters in life. Clothes also, decided the pondering Legolas with relief, are meant to hide things that one does not wish to be known. Sometimes these are naughty things, like a 'borrowed' knife stuffed into the waistband of a young one's trousers, kept firmly from prying eyes by the cherished longer length of a tunic. Sometimes, though, they hide secrets of enormous proportions, bad things, things that could mean the difference between life and death, between betrayal and fealty, between happiness and misery, between harsh punishment and loving acceptance…

Legolas pulled his dark, heavily-layered cloak more tightly around his thin body, his fingers rubbing absently on the soft, thick, rich material. He had argued with his father over wearing this cloak, insisting that it would only show his extreme youth to the other, older elves who were not bothered by the cooler temperatures and lightly falling snowflakes that were becoming a permanent part of the horizon. His father's fierce temper had been aroused, and Legolas had been forced to suffer through a nerve-shattering lecture about fragile elflings and ungrateful children as his father angrily informed him that he had two options: wear the cloak or stay home.

Legolas, anxious to go on this small patrol to prove his growing weaponry skills both to his fellow warriors and the captain, but most of all to his very own Adar, had naturally chosen to wear the cloak, gritting his teeth together tightly to keep back the words of frustration he yearned to say to his stubborn father. His father did not know how badly the others teased him over every little overprotective nuance the king enforced upon his hapless child. Nor would he ever mention it to him, believing it was his burden alone to bear as prince of the realm. He had finally and rather reluctantly relinquished this argument, bowing his head and leaving the room with shoulders slumped. It was not that he minded the verbal teasing so very much. It was that he feared that the others would take it to extremes and engage him in a physical battle of wills, or else he would lose his temper and start the battle himself. Fighting had serious consequences in the Woodland Realm, or so he had heard, and he well knew that the prince most of all was required to set the example and refrain from such irresponsible behavior.

He had hated the cloak and the resulting consequences for days after the confrontation with his father and the subsequent departure (wearing said cloak). He had found himself wishing many times that he could conveniently 'lose' it in the river or leave it behind on one of the branches of the tall oaks in the woods. Now, however…well, now the cloak was a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from sinking into an ever-darkening abyss of despair and unmentionable consequences. He could not imagine being without the cloak, and wished he had never made such an issue of wearing it. This cloak (hopefully) would save him from his father's displeasure and from more humiliating and disastrous consequences than he'd ever been forced to endure.

As he drew closer to the front doors of the keep, keeping his focus steadily on the unwavering back of his captain in front of him, Legolas clutched the dark cloak a little tighter to his thin body, wishing the cloak had a small piece of magic in it, one that might allow him to disappear into a land in which there were no lecturing fathers and uncomfortable punishments. He could only hope the cloak would make him invisible enough to keep the truth from his father just this once, not that he had considered lying to his father before. Sometimes, though, an elf had to do what an elf had to do, and this was one of those times!

The captain, Angbor, turned back to assess the young prince following behind him. He knew something was off with the youth, but he had yet to ascertain exactly what it was. He had picked up on some of the older warriors giving the lad a hard time and teasing him about his cloak during this patrol, and he knew that there was a distinct chilliness between those warriors and the young prince—and had been for several days. Beyond that, he did not know what was wrong. Legolas' movements were too 'careful'—for lack of a better word—and cautious, and had been so today and yesterday. Instead of trying to get rid of the hated cloak as he had tried the first couple of days of the patrol, he instead was clasping it tightly around him as though cold and showed no sign of wishing it gone. The captain wondered what could have changed the youth's mind about not wanting to wear the cloak, and he wished he could have been a bird on that branch when the change took place so he could have seen what happened. More than once, he wondered if the young elf had taken ill during the patrol. The weather had been unexpectedly bitter cold for so early in the season, and elflings were more prone to getting cold and ill. He shrugged inwardly then. Thranduil would discover what was ailing the youth; of that he had no doubt. Best he hurry and get through his report and leave the wise king and father to his task of drawing the young prince out of his self-induced shell.

"Noro," he told his warriors, watching with pursed lips as the young elf stumbled almost immediately at the faster pace and nearly fell to his knees before regaining his balance. He forced himself to turn away, though, and led his men into the Keep, afterwards sending them all on their way while he and Legolas continued on to the throne room—he to make his required report, and Legolas to check in with his Adar as he was required to do. The guards in front of the throne room door bowed to the captain and their prince, opening the door for them to enter, then shutting it behind them as they walked in. Legolas stumbled once more as he crossed the raised entrance into the throne room, and the captain resisted the urge to grab hold of him to keep him from stumbling again. He dearly hoped that Thranduil would let him know later what was troubling the youth. He hoped it was not something that had been caused by his lack of attentiveness, or he would never forgive himself.

Approaching the throne, Angbor bowed and placed his hand over his heart in customary respect, seeing Legolas do the same out of the corner of his eye—the one that was still keeping a close watch on the youth. Thranduil returned the gesture, but Angbor could easily see that the king's piercing gaze was seeing right through him to his son who was standing slightly behind the captain. Angbor smiled inwardly, glad to see that the king was watching the young prince so closely. He hoped it would not be long before the wise monarch found the problem, and he proceeded to give the report with a swiftness that had yet been unmatched by any of the previous Mirkwood captains. Thranduil did not seem to mind, however. In fact, he did not even seem to notice or hear most of what the captain was saying. His attention began to focus more and more on the young elf as Angbor droned on in a purposely monotonous tone, until finally his entire attention was in one place only, that of a slightly swaying youth that was still clutching a very hated cloak to him like a lifeline and refused to meet the king's eyes.

It did not take any magic for Thranduil to see that something was wrong with his child. Had he not been able to tell by the telltale swaying and pale features, the tight grip on the previously despised cloak would have told the story. Legolas was Thranduil's son, and by right of inheritance was equally stubborn and prideful. He would have thrown the cloak aside the moment he entered the keep just from principal alone and, indeed, had done so on many a humorous occasion after similar arguments between king and prince—at least, they were humorous to the amused father, though he doubted that Legolas himself saw much humor in the matter. The distracted king could hear the captain giving the report, but the words faded off into a dim chatter that he could not hear. Finally, he raised one hand imperiously, the obvious movement sending Angbor into an immediate silence. Gracing the weary-looking soldier with half a glance, he waved his hand toward the door. "Enough, Angbor, you may leave us. I would have words with my son." He met the captain's glance for just long enough to see the edge of concern in the other's eyes. He nodded his head slightly, letting the other elf know he had seen something amiss in the young prince. Thranduil was grateful to the captain for his concern, and made a mental note to send word to the other elf when he found out what was troubling the elfling.

Angbor bowed, turning to place a hand on Legolas' shoulder, causing him to finally raise his eyes from the apparently fascinating floor. He gave him a comforting smile and squeezed his shoulder. "I will see you soon, young one," he said gently, bowing slightly and taking his leave, carefully shutting the heavy wooden door behind him to give the royals some much needed privacy.

While the captain had been giving his report, Legolas had felt moderately safe from what he knew to be his father's too-keen and seeing eyes. It was rare that he got away with anything with his wise and powerful father as king of the land. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he struggled to think of some way to deflect his Ada's curiosity. Perhaps he could make him mad at him. He seemed to have that down to a rare talent, so should be able to manage quite well… He felt more than heard the captain quit speaking, and wondered dully why he had not finished the report. Then he heard his father begin to speak and froze, clutching the infamous cloak even tighter around his lithe frame in a subconscious attempt to protect himself. When he heard his father say he wanted to speak with Legolas, the youth closed his eyes in defeat. "I am dead," he thought dully. "If I cannot keep hidden what I have done, I will be forever banished or, worse, cast into the dungeons forever, away from my beloved trees and the sunshine and starlight." Shaking himself slightly, common sense began to flow into his aching body. "Nay, I cannot bear such a fate. I MUST keep this hidden!"

He felt the captain's hand on his shoulder then, and heard him speaking, but his nerves had risen to such an insurmountable level that the words were just a dim mumble that he could not make out. Then he heard the faintest click of the door as the captain left, reminding the youth of the final and inescapable clang of an iron cell door, effectively sealing his fate. A shiver ran through him despite the thickness of the cloak, and he closed his eyes yet again. There was silence for a few moments as the prince struggled to gain some much-needed courage for what he knew he must do and the king sat silently observing him. Finally, when the silence nearly caused the weary youth to drift off into a troubled dreamscape, the king spoke. "Legolas, come here. Let me greet you properly, ion nin."

Thranduil frowned when his words gained no reaction. He rose slowly, walking forward until he was within reach of the young elf. "Legolas!" he tried again, his louder tone achieving the desired effect as the youth jerked his head up and turned weary eyes up to meet the piercing blue ones of his father. "Ada?" he asked in a confused tone, as though he had forgotten where he was. Thranduil's frown grew deeper, but he forced himself to ignore the strange actions for the moment.

"Come, child." He put his arm around Legolas' cloaked shoulders, leading him gently in the direction of the door behind the throne—the one that led to the family chambers. "Let us retire to my study so that you can tell me about your first patrol. I am looking forward to hearing about it."

Legolas paled imperceptibly, his eyes darting several different directions as he wondered how he could escape this fate. Seeing no obvious path at the moment—considering that his father's strong arm was firmly ensconced around his shoulders—he decided to act as normal as possible for the time being. 'Perhaps Ada will merely think me tired from the trip, especially if I can distract him with some tales of our adventures,' he thought to himself…and promptly stumbled for what must have been the hundredth time that day. 'Ai, Valar…' he thought despairingly as Thranduil's strong grip tightened around his shoulders, keeping him from falling. 'I cannot last much longer. I hope I can distract Ada enough that he lets me retire to my room to rest. I'm sure I will feel better tomorrow, if only I can keep him from finding out tonight.' The tired youth did not stop to think that his stumble might raise questions in his father's mind—questions he would not want to answer.

Thranduil led his son swiftly to his study, guiding him through the door and closing it behind him. Leading him into the sitting area, he finally released his arm from around the youth's shoulders, going over to the side table and pouring two cups of tea from the always-filled pot kept for just such visits—the servants knowing that elflings did not need much wine. "Legolas, I'm sure you will be happy to know that you can remove your cloak now, ion nin. I did not mean that you had to wear it even now, only during the patrol outdoors."

There was a complete silence in the room, and Thranduil wondered for a brief moment if he was really alone, not sure how an elfling could disappear so silently and completely. He turned back around with the two cups of tea in hand, freezing when he saw Legolas' features. He was paler than he was before, if such a thing was possible, and he had managed to clasp the cloak so completely around him that the elder elf could not see even an inch of the youth's tunic beneath the thick material.

"I will keep it on, thank you, Ada. I hope to retire to my room soon to rest, and will take it off then," the young prince finally responded, raising a carefully cloaked expression to his father's keen gaze.

"Don't be silly, Legolas! Take it off!" Thranduil snapped, frustration getting the better of him as he began to suspect the child was hiding some type of injury.

'Surely Angbor would have known if Legolas was injured in battle. Perhaps he is just still angry about wearing the cloak and being purposefully defiant?' thought the worried king.

Legolas was only sure that he had to keep the cloak on no matter what the consequences, and was growing desperate to sway his father's attention away from the cloak. In his weariness, he did something that he would never have considered even slightly feasible, not in a millennia of years. Grasping the edge of the warm cloak like a lifeline as he sent himself willingly to his own doom, he managed a half-glare at his waiting father. "You wanted me to wear it!" he snapped back. "Now I shall keep it on, thank you all the same!"

Thranduil could not restrain his reaction. His mouth dropped open in a very unkingly manner as he gaped in shock at his young son. Legolas had never been purposely disrespectful to him, and this was so disrespectful that any elf parent of even a more undisciplined child than Legolas would have been in shock right now. His cheeks reddened as he placed the cups of forgotten tea back down on the table and walked closer to his son. 'It is as I suspected,' he thought with growing rage. 'He is simply angry still about having to wear the cloak, and is acting out of spite.'

Stepping so close to his son that Legolas was forced to take a subconscious step back, Thranduil's hand shot out and grabbed the younger elf's arm in a vicelike grip. " .Off….NOW!" he snarled, managing to turn Legolas' face an even more interesting shade of white and sending a shiver of sheer terror down the youth's spine.

The room spun strangely around Legolas' vision as he struggled to still his racing heart. 'Ai…I am so tired…' he thought miserably, wishing he was lying down in his nice comfy bed right then getting ready to fall asleep. The room tilted more alarmingly and Legolas swayed in Thranduil's grip, causing the king to tighten his hold and chasing away some of his anger.

'No…' the elder elf thought, 'perhaps something else IS wrong…I must get to the bottom of this…' He placed a hand on the cloak fastenings, thinking as he did so that it was amazing how much trouble one garment could bring to an entire castle, and especially to one king!

Legolas was still battling a spinning room, and nearly did not notice his father's hand adeptly unfastening his now-lifeline from his neck. When he felt the garment tug unrelentingly in his hands, however, the spinning of the room took an instant back seat to more pressing matters. He jerked back out of his father's grip, throwing himself backwards with such strength that he tumbled over the edge of a footstool and landed in an achy heap on the floor. He gasped at the sudden rush of pain that shot through his chest, wishing yet again that he could just go sleep in his room now. Thranduil was by his side then, pulling him to his feet and setting him gently on the nearby couch. Legolas could hear him saying something, but the pain had caused a dull ringing in his ears, and once again he found himself unable to make out the words. He vaguely felt his father's hands unfastening the cloak once more, and knew he no longer had the strength to resist. "Ada will be furious with me," he thought sadly. "He will have to decide whether to banish me or throw me in the dungeons, and he will probably never speak to me again…" a lone tear trickled down a pale cheek as Legolas closed his eyes against the pain and his remorse. He heard his father gasp when he finally finished unfastening the cloak and pushed the edges aside, and he knew that he had failed—failed in a spectacular way, a way which could never be reversed, and he wished he had never gone on this patrol.

Thranduil was horrified when Legolas literally threw himself backwards to escape his father's ministrations. That one action alone told him something was seriously wrong here. Legolas would never defy him in such a way or be so outright disrespectful. He knew his son, and it just wasn't in him to act thusly. Argue, perhaps…try to wheedle his father into giving in to his wishes…but this? This was beyond anything he'd ever seen from his son before. He tried to grab onto his son as he fell backwards but was not quick enough, wincing as the slight figure slammed harshly onto the wooden floor after tripping over the pesky foot stool. He reminded himself to burn that horrid piece of furniture the next chance he got as he rushed to his son's side, pulling him carefully up and placing him on the couch. "What is wrong, ion nin?" he asked, managing somehow to bring his panicked tone down into something that sounded halfway soothing. "Saes, child, talk to me…tell me what is going on…I will not be angry with you…" He quickly unfastened the familiar cloak when he received no response from Legolas, who appeared to be fading in and out of lucidity if the glazed-over eyes were any indication. The worried king gasped when he pushed the edges of the cloak aside to reveal a blood-soaked tunic beneath.

"Legolas! Why did you not tell someone you were injured in battle?" He bit out as he proceeded to unfasten the ruined tunic to reveal the injuries beneath.

The ringing was beginning to fade away now that Legolas was sitting still on the couch, and he could finally make out some of his father's words. He heard "talk to me,"… "injured in battle,"…and "angry at you," and could not prevent another shudder from wracking his aching body. 'Ada IS mad at me,' he thought sadly, 'and he doesn't even know yet…I must tell him now…I have no choice. I cannot allow him to think I was honorably injured in battle…' A sigh shook his chest, causing the ache to increase even more and forcing him to catch his breath for a moment against the pain. When it dimmed slightly, he grabbed his father's hand in a tight grip, preventing him from loosening his tunic any further.

"Did not get it in battle…," he gasped as he found himself unable to get enough breath in to speak clearly. "Sorry, Ada…didn't mean to disrespect you…I did something really horrible…and didn't want to get banished…or…or thrown in the dungeon…" he lowered his head then and closed his eyes, unable to prevent two more lonely tears from trickling down shame-filled cheeks.

There was silence for just a moment as Thranduil processed the distraught youth's words. 'What in Arda did he do…to think I would ever banish him…' he thought in horror, bringing his hand up to Legolas' chin and tilting the pale face back up to meet his own. "Child, whatever has possessed you to think I would ever banish you over anything? And I hardly think I would throw you in the dungeons when you are so obviously injured!"

Two blue eyes cracked open to stare up into the identical blue eyes of his father, doubt lingering in the grief-filled depths. "Come now," soothed the older elf, "tell me what has happened, penneth. Nothing can be THAT bad!"

"It IS bad!" Legolas whispered. "It is one of the rules…and those are the punishments for it. I'm sorry, Ada. Goheno nin! It was my fault and I accept full responsibility for it."

The anguish in the much younger eyes tugged at Thranduil's heart as he felt a chill run through him at his son's words. Had Legolas committed a kinslaying or something equally horrible? For he could not think of anything else that would earn such a punishment. He begin to wrack his brain for any way around the definitive elven consequences for kinslaying, any excuse that could be given that might save his poor child from such a horrible fate. His mind went so far down this black road that it barely connected when Legolas continued with bated breath, "I was in a fight…and it is forbidden for warriors to fight…I'm so sorry, Adar. Do with me what you must."

It took a moment for the words to sink into Thranduil's panicked mind, but when they did, he turned slowly to look at the downcast blonde head with widened eyes. 'A fight…?' he thought dully, 'All this trouble because of a little fight…?' He rubbed a shaky hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts. He was so relieved to find out it wasn't a kinslaying or something equally terrible that he felt a little dizzy. He sighed then as he looked at the top of the bowed head, seeing his son's shivering growing even worse as the silence progressed. He realized that Legolas was terrified…terrified of what the consequences would be for his actions. He sat down on the edge of the couch beside the trembling form, placing a long arm carefully around the younger elf's shoulders. "Legolas…" he started, his voice filled with grief for his child's suffering. "Oh child…why ever would you think that you would be banished or put in the dungeons because of a fight? Have I ever led you to believe such a thing, penneth?"

The lowered head slowly lifted, and the two beautiful blue eyes widened into huge round circles of disbelief and the slightest tinge of hope as the young elf stared at his father. Thranduil swallowed, feeling very grateful that now was not the time Legolas was pleading with his father not to wear the cloak. He just might have given in if that were the case, for he could not resist this particular expression…

"They told me it was so…" Legolas said hesitantly, unsure now after hearing his father's words.

The arm around his shoulders tightened ever so slightly. "Who told you this?" came his father's voice then, remarkably controlled. Legolas knew his father well enough to hear the anger beneath the tight control, however.

"The ones I fought with…" he whispered, afraid once more of losing his father's love or of disappointing him as he realized how angry he was. A look of consternation spread across the formidable king's face, and he abruptly pulled his young son into a gentle embrace, pushing his head down on a strong shoulder and sending a wave of confusion and shock through the younger elf. "Ada…what…?" he asked dazedly, beginning to feel very lightheaded from all the confusing signals he was receiving from his father. First, he thought his father was furious at him…now he was hugging him? 'Perhaps Ada isn't well…?' he thought until the king began to speak.

"Legolas," Thranduil said firmly, "I do not pretend to know exactly what has happened or what has been told to you. I do know, however…" he pulled back and held the young elf tightly by the shoulders, gazing steadily into his eyes, "that banishment and time in the dungeons is not the punishment for a mere fight. Someone has been lying to you, child."

The blue eyes rounded in amazement, then slowly filled with dread. "Is the punishment even worse then, Adar?" he asked in such a sad tone that Thranduil's heart lurched.

"Oh, child," he breathed. "Of course not! Fighting is considered a mild offense. Usually all the parties are gathered together and extra chores meant to instill particular lessons are awarded according to each part played in the fight."

Legolas breathed in sharply, hardly daring to believe what his Ada was saying to him. He felt another wave of pain wash through his chest and gritted his teeth, trying to hide it from his father. Thranduil easily saw it, though. He cupped his son's chin gently but tightly in his strong grip. "Legolas…ion nin…can you tell me exactly what started the fight?"

The young prince flushed and lowered his head in embarrassment. He dared not refuse his father an answer. Especially after it seemed his father was not that angry with him over the fight—amazingly enough. "Twas my cloak…" he mumbled in a voice barely loud enough for the keen ears of the king to hear. "They kept teasing me about it…" He raised chagrined eyes to meet the widening ones of his father. "I am sorry, Adar. Goheno nin. I should have restrained myself better."

Thranduil could not prevent the wave of guilt that crashed over him like surf on the rocks. He had done this! He had put his son in this position, and now he had been bullied and badly injured—from the looks of the blood on his tunic—because of it. He growled low in his throat and snatched up the cloak, preparing to cast it aside. "Then let us be rid of this accursed garment! It has caused us too much trouble as it is!"

"Nay, Ada!" Legolas wailed, so much desperation in his voice that Thranduil's shattered nerves caused him to immediately drop the said garment down on the couch beside the youth, who promptly snatched it back up and made a shaky attempt to cover himself with it once more.

Thranduil looked at his son in confusion. "I do not understand, penneth. I thought you hated that thing!"

"Tis not as bad as I thought," whispered the elf with lowered eyes, rubbing his hand comfortingly over the soft fabric as he had done countless times during the tortuous journey back. He had only had the soft, familiar fabric to soothe his own shattered nerves during the return—a journey that was riddled with thoughts of guilt and dread and filled nearly every hour with more cruel comments from the bullying warriors. He had grown rather attached to the before-hated garment as a result; that, and the fact that he had realized how very convenient such an item was for hiding that which he did not wish known, such as injuries gained in an unlawful fight.

The king frowned. Valar, but he did not understand his son sometimes! He shrugged then as he raised a slender hand and felt the heat radiating from the pale forehead, deciding this was a debate best saved for another day. Legolas was sporting a high fever and was likely not thinking straight right now, anyway. "Come, child. I need to see to your injuries now."

Legolas heaved a longsuffering sigh. His relief at apparently not being banished or otherwise tortured was too great for him to deny his father's request though, and he carefully placed the cloak to one side, keeping a tight grip on it with one hand, and allowed his father access to his wounds.

Thranduil was quick to remove the bloodstained tunic, clean and dress the bleeding wounds that looked alarmingly like small knife slashes, put soothing paste on the many dark bruises, and carefully bind the many broken ribs. 'No wonder the poor child acted strangely! I am surprised he could still stand!' he thought grimly as he finished his ministrations. It looked as though the other elves had been careful in their cruel assault in some ways. They had kept the battering to Legolas' torso area, an area easily hidden beneath clothing that would not raise questions since it was out of sight. Finally finished with his ministrations, the worried king lifted his head to see his son watching him with piercing blue eyes, a question in their depths.

"What is it, penneth?" he asked gently, squeezing Legolas' shoulder in encouragement.

A great sigh shuddered through the weary and hurting body along with a fear-filled whisper. "Ada…have I lost your love?" The blue eyes filled with threatening moisture as the youth waited with bated breath, sure that the answer would be in the affirmative.

Thranduil's mouth dropped open in another very unkingly gesture. It took a long moment before he could recover his shock enough to even answer—a long moment in which Legolas dropped his gaze, sure to his very core that his father now hated him. He was suddenly pulled into a tight embrace, though, the grip causing his ribs to ache fiercely. "Legolas…" the astonished king breathed, "Of course you have not lost my love, little one. You shall NEVER lose my love, no matter what misdeed you commit! I do not understand why you think a small fight is such a bad thing. Especially since it appears you were rather outnumbered in this. Valar…do you no know how many fights I got into in my elfling years?"

"Truly, Ada?" mumbled a breathless voice into Thranduil's shoulder, where the latter elf had pressed his face. The king heard the breathlessness and immediately loosened his grip, frowning guiltily when he heard shuddering breaths from his son as he tried to regain his lost air.

"Yes, truly, child. I will tell you the stories sometime. Suffice it to say, I am NOT angry with you, nor will I be. Come now, it is time for you to rest. We can talk later." He then grabbed the readied cup of healing tea from the side table where he had previously placed it, ensuring that his child drank every drop and ignoring the grimace of distaste he made at every sip.

He then assisted Legolas in lying down on the couch, covering him abundantly in heavy blankets to try to still the shivering from his fever. A strange feeling swept through him when Legolas reached over to the edge where his cloak had been pushed and drew it closer to him, holding it tightly in his grip as he allowed his eyes to close. 'If I live forever, I will NEVER understand elflings!' he muttered to himself as he went in search of Angbor.

Thranduil was slightly surprised to see the captain waiting in a chair in the hall outside his study. Angbor had left, attended to some duties of his own, and then was unable to keep away, too worried about the elfling. He had decided to come back and wait for news. He rose quickly and bowed when Thranduil stepped out of his study door. The king acknowledged his gesture with a slight lowering of his head, then waved a hand for the other elf to sit down as he joined him on the other side of the bench. Never one to beat around the bush, the king got right to the point. "What do you know about Legolas being teased about his cloak?" he asked calmly, trying to keep his rising anger in check as he thought once more about his son's injuries and the upheaval the dreaded cloak had caused.

Angbor frowned. "There are several in the group who tease the young prince and give him a hard time about everything, my Lord. The cloak was just one thing of many. I considered many times bringing it to your attention, but was always taught that the one being teased needed to learn how to stand up for himself, especially when that one is a prince who will become a great leader of elves someday."

"I cannot fault your logic," Thranduil said smoothly, "but where were you when the fight occurred?"

Angbor looked stunned. "Fight? What fight, my Lord? I knew not aught of this."

"The fight that gained my son many small cuts from knives, much bruising, and multiple broken ribs—that fight," the king said in a frightening tone, his eyes dark and piercing.

"Ai," cried the captain with widening eyes filled with horror. "So that was what was wrong with the child." he slipped immediately to his knee beside the bench, lowering his head submissively. "Goheno nin, my Lord. I have failed in my duties to protect the young one. Do with me as you wish."

Thranduil sighed, beginning to feel frustrated as he heard the phrase for the second time that day. Surely he was not THAT scary as to make all his subjects think the worst would happen over any offense. "Rise, Angbor!" he snapped irritably, and the flustered elf immediately complied. "I do not hold you responsible, my friend. I am quite sure Legolas arranged the fight for such a time that he knew you would not be around, for he did not wish you to see his disgrace. The child thought he was to be banished or thrown into the dungeons for it. Apparently that is what the other elves told him."

"Oh..nay…" pleaded Angbor, not wanting to believe such a thing. "The return journey must have been so terrible for him, my Lord."

"Ai," acknowledged the king grimly. "I do expect you to mete out suitable punishment to these warriors, old friend. Then I wish you to remove them from the army. This was no harmless bought of teasing. They have proven themselves disloyal to the king and the realm by attacking its prince, and they will be treated accordingly. I do not wish to ever see them myself, for I fear I would not be able to control my anger at what they have done to my son."

Angbor bowed his head, still feeling guilty over what had happened under his watch. He raised his head back up to meet the cold eyes of his king and friend with a pleading gaze. "Will the elfling be all right, my Lord?"

Thranduil's face softened then. He knew Angbor was truly concerned over Legolas and, as he had stated, he did not fault him for what had happened. Young elves would be young elves, and fights and disagreements would happen. No one elf could watch over another every second of the day and night. This was a lesson even Thranduil had been forced to learn as he discovered the many joys of fatherhood. He placed a kind hand on his old friend's shoulder. "Fear not, Angbor. Legolas will recover. He will be in bed for many days, I fear, and I think mayhap that he has a rather different feeling towards his hated cloak, now. But I am sure he will recover admirably."

Angbor breathed a sigh of relief even as curiosity swept through him at Thranduil's comment about the cloak. 'What is the elfling doing now?' he wondered vaguely as he bowed one last time, thanked his king, and left to find the perpetrators of this entire mess.

Thranduil went back to his study, fussing over the blankets, laying a cool hand on the still-heated forehead, smoothing back a strand of golden hair tenderly, then going to prepare more tea for when his son awoke, setting it on the side table in readiness. He then poured himself a cup of wine and sat down on the chair opposite his beloved son. A slight smile crossed his lips as he spied the hated cloak still clutched tightly in the young elf's hand. The act somehow made his son seem so very young, barely out of elflinghood, and reminded him of a ragged little blanket that had been carried around for many years and still lay hidden in the depths of the young prince's pillows every night he was at home. He wondered vaguely how one garment could cause so many disastrous issues, yet bring so much apparent happiness at the same time, and he spent many long hours during the night contemplating that intriguing question as he kept watch over his precious ion.


End file.
